10 HurtComfort Ficlets
by hereswith
Summary: A collection of MalRiver oneshots written for the 10hurtcomfort challenge on Livejournal. All are set some time after the movie.
1. Three Sheets to the Wind

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement is  
intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: River's had a little too much to drink.  
**Author's note**: Written for the prompt Drunk at the 10hurtcomfort challenge community on  
Livejournal.

**  
Three Sheets to the Wind **  
**by Hereswith**

"Don't feel well," she says, morosely, in answer to his question. She's slumped against a tree, at  
the outskirts of the celebration, the bark gnarly beneath her palm, and she hasn't thrown up, but  
she almost wishes she would, because it might ease the dreadful nausea. "I think I'm going to die." 

"Had a mite too much, is all," he replies. It's dark, but not so dark that she can't see him. "Ain't  
no fun while it lasts, but it won't kill you."

There's sympathy in his voice, but a hint of humour, as well, and she glares at him. "You're not  
drunk."

"Know when to stop," he says, and at her grimace, "You'll learn."

"Not nice," she grumbles. "_Mal_. Bad." She takes an experimental step forward, then another,  
emboldened by success, letting go of the tree. But the ground tilts, the planet shrugs her off like  
she's an annoyance, and she would have sprawled in a heap, had he not caught her. He's solid  
and steady, unlike the world, so she clings. He's also very close, and she looks up, meeting his  
gaze. "You have pretty eyes."

He laughs, startled. "That's supposed to make up for 'not nice', is it?"

She tips her head to the side, studying his face. "The nose is adequate," she continues, and he  
gives a mock affronted snort. "I like your mouth." She lifts her hand and aims, but ends up below  
the mark, poking his chin.

"Hey!" he half-protests. "What are you—"

He falls silent when she corrects the error, running her forefinger along his lower lip. It's soft, his  
breath is warm, and she swallows, her voice turning low. "Good for kissing."

He blinks, then firmly sets her away from him, but keeps a loose grasp on her arms. "That's the  
firewater talking."

"Is not," she's quick to counter. "Might make me say it, but doesn't make me lie. It wouldn't be  
my first," she adds, to assure him. "I've kissed—" Squinting with concentration, she counts them  
in her mind. "Four other men. Boys." She pauses again. "Haven't told Simon."

"I bet you haven't," he replies. "I won't be your fifth, darlin'."

She frowns deeper at him. "Why not?" He hesitates and she's an albatross, not a bird of prey,  
but she can recognise the weakness, and readies to call him on it.

Or would have. "Oh."

"What?"

Her stomach heaves and she twists aside to spare him the worst of it, pushing her hair out of the  
way in frantic haste. His hand is on her back, soothing throughout, and at length she straightens,  
flushed with embarrassment. "Sorry."

"Happens to the best of us," he says, as encouragement. "We should get you to the ship 'fore Doc  
starts wondering. You up for walking?"

"Yes," she responds, breathing in the crisp evening air. The queasiness has subsided, but it hasn't  
disappeared. "If I can lean on you?"

He smiles. "My shoulder's yours, little one."

She considers that, and him, a moment. "Is it?"

He reaches out, tucking an errant strand behind her ear. "Always."


	2. Green Eyed Monster

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement is  
intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: Mal's dancing, but not with River.  
**Author's note**: Written for the prompt Jealousy at the 10hurtcomfort challenge community on  
Livejournal. .

**  
Green-Eyed Monster**  
**by Hereswith**

He's dancing. _Dancing_. River loses her momentum and skids to a halt, shaking her head at her partner,  
claiming she's too tired to continue, even though she isn't. Believing her, the young man disappears into  
the crowd, and she leans back, shoulders squared against the nearby wall, her attention on the captain. 

He seems to enjoy it, or maybe the pleasure has less to do with the actual dancing than with the  
golden-haired creature in his arms. It's the woman, Petra, who owns the barn in which the dance is  
held, who's had her eye on Mal since they arrived, and, at the moment, a great deal more: her hand  
is at his neck, her curves flush against him, and River's stomach flips and knots.

She watches the pair, with gnawing unease, and when the musicians pause, Petra falls into conversation  
with one of the older farmers, while Mal, spotting River alone, gravitates towards her.

"Ain't you dancing?"

"I was," she replies. "But I stopped."

"I can see that," he says, amused. "Why?"

He's bright-faced and ruffled from the exertion, his sleeves rolled up high and one button too many  
undone in his shirt, and the knot inside her tightens, like it's being tugged.

"She's beautiful," she comments, hedging the question.

"Petra?" She nods, and he says, "Yes, she is."

It's an honest answer, and the words tumble out before she can check them, both denial and refusal.  
"Wouldn't work between you. She doesn't like flying."

It throws him, but then he replies, "Wasn't exactly planning to marry her."

"Ended up with a wife once, when you didn't expect it," she retorts, and tries not to imagine what he  
might have planned instead. "You should be more careful."

His brows snap together. "What's this about?"

The gaze he levels on her is intent, a piercing blue, and she averts her own gaze, fixing it on the planks  
beneath her. "Nothing."

He snorts. "And pigs have wings, do they? It's plain as day. So," he prompts her, "are you going to  
tell me?"

River, reluctant to say, nudges at a straw on the floor with the tip of her boot, pushing it to slip into  
a crack. He might find her childish, if she spells it out, and that's the last thing she wants. The very last.  
But he doesn't leave, doesn't abandon her to brooding, he merely stands there, a quiet presence,  
impossible to ignore, until she's compelled to look at him again.

His arms are crossed, fingers tapping his elbow. "Still waiting."

She opens her mouth, and closes it. The musicians are picking up their instruments, the fiddler setting  
a tune, and further off, past the captain, she catches sight of Kaylee, stretching to whisper in Simon's  
ear, causing her brother to laugh.

"Ain't a reader," Mal reminds her. "Can't sort it out none, if you ain't talking."

He has a point, a valid point, though she's loath to admit it, and it's obvious he won't let it rest unless  
she gives him an explanation. Wetting dry lips, she begins. "You were dancing."

"And?" he says. "Mightn't be such a commonplace occurrence, but I don't rightly get what has  
you riled."

She draws a breath. "Didn't ask me."

His expression floods with comprehension, and surprise, and if she'd been able to sink through wood,  
then, she would have.

"Darlin'," he says, in a softened tone. "She did the asking, not the other way 'round. And there are  
boys aplenty far better at it would take you for a spin. Wouldn't have thought you'd care to dance with  
a grumpy old capt'n."

"You're not," she replies, but amends, "Old, I mean. The rest is true." He chuckles, slightly, and she  
feels rush of heat in her cheeks, but forges ahead. "And I _would_ care to."

He grows serious, regarding her. "I've more years on you than I'd like to recall," he says, but there's  
something in his eyes, a current running contrary, and he adds, "I'd probably step on your toes. Near  
did with her, you know."

"Don't mind," she assures, lifting her foot up and flexing it to show. "Got combat boots on."

"That you have."

It's almost a concession, but her hopes are dashed when Petra reappears, a honey-gold whirlwind,  
pulling at him to follow. River turns aside, gritting her teeth against the disappointment, certain it's ruined,  
that he'll go with that woman, whose circuits are all connected, without a second's hesitation; not her,  
not mixed-up, moonbrained River Tam.

Then his voice cuts through to her, and she stills, because he says, addressing Petra, "Reckon the  
next one's already spoken for." River glances sharply at him and the corners of his mouth twitch.  
"Ain't that so?"

And she grins, her heart beating in time with the music. "Yes," she confirms. "Spoken for and promised.  
To me."


	3. The Bad Things and the Good

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement is  
intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: River can't sleep for the memories.  
**Author's note**: Written for the prompt Fear at the 10hurtcomfort challenge community on  
Livejournal.

**  
The Bad Things and the Good**  
**by Hereswith**

She can't sleep for the memories, can't close her eyes for the images, her head bursting full of echoes,  
and the _no_ burns at the back of her throat like bile. _This won't hurt a thing_. She scrambles out of  
the bed, out of her room and through the passages, but the walls seem to rush in on her and the  
apprehension lingers, lodged in her bones, marrow-deep, she feels wide open and vulnerable, and  
every hair on her nape stands on end. _Strap her down and get the sedatives. Now!_ Flinching, like  
the command applies to her, to the present, she stumbles, disoriented, banging side first into metal,  
and the pain stops her a moment, but then she continues. _Fighting only makes it worse, haven't  
you learned that?_ To breathe is an effort, in through her mouth and out through her nose, and she's  
in a cold sweat, she knows she's unhinging, slip slip sliding, but she doesn't know what to do. Simon  
would worry so, and the drugs numb her, they change the world to cotton, and she's _improved_,  
cutting down on them, managing without, these are the victories she clings to. 

The galley is deserted, but the shadows move and stretch in the empty spaces, and she hesitates,  
rocking from one foot to the other, hugging her chest. At the sudden noise from the direction of the  
bridge, her head snaps up. _Mal_. And she panics, she's such a blur, such a mess, and he might not let  
her fly, if he finds out, she has to function like a girl for that, sharp mind and steady hands. The table  
is nearer than the opposite doorway and she ducks under it, more from instinct than reason, trying  
to escape his notice.

He enters with a shuffling gait and a loud yawn, and goes to the kitchen area, to make coffee, she  
suspects, and the sounds that follow confirm it. He's turned some of the lights on, but it's not enough  
to illuminate where she is, to betray her, and she's grateful. The respite is short-lived, however, for  
he doesn't quit the room, when he's finished, he approaches the table, instead, and takes a seat,  
almost in front of her. River stares at his boots, his trouser-clad knees, her pulse racing, and makes  
an attempt to edge further from him, but he extends his leg, and bumps it against her. There's a startled  
exclamation, a thud as he puts his mug down, then he bends to check, and she freezes in place.

"River? What the _guĭ_ are you doing?"

She won't look, won't look, hopes he'll go away.

"Do you have any idea how early it is? Should still be in your bunk."

She won't speak, won't speak, hopes he'll go away.

He's silent, then says, "I'll get Simon, if that's—"

"Don't want him to see," she blurts. "Don't want _you_ to see. I'm not here."

"Right," he replies, in a tone concerned and confused. "And just what is it you're not wanting me  
to see?"

"Me," she says, choking on the word. "You won't trust me with piloting. Clip my wings and tail  
feathers, too."

"That's why you're hiding?" He shifts, pushing the chair back to crouch next to the table. "You're  
a damn fine pilot, darlin'. You've proved it countless ways, and I ain't gonna forget that 'cause  
you're having a bad night."

He's sincere, nothing she can sense hints otherwise, and the relief is too much, she's run too ragged  
with fear and remembering, and starts to tremble, unable to quell it, gulping down air in dry, hiccuping  
sobs. Mal mutters a curse and squeezes under to grab hold of her, pulling her out. She hurls herself  
at him, and he isn't prepared for it, her weight tips his balance, and they both end up sitting sprawled  
on the floor. He says her name, twice, but she doesn't listen, half-claws and clutches to get close,  
seeking his warmth like a wild creature. There's calm in the centre of him, shelter in the lee of him,  
she burrows her face into the crook of his neck, above the T-shirt, where the skin is bare, and he  
endures the onslaught with awkward gentleness, letting her take what comfort she needs.

When at last she quiets, he says, though not unkindly, "I'd be beholden if you'd ease that death-grip  
some, else I'll be powerful bruised."

Mortified, she complies, but doesn't completely release him. "Didn't mean to."

"Figured you didn't." He pats her shoulder. "What brought this on? Nightmares?"

"Memories," she replies. "I wasn't sleeping. Couldn't." She pauses, and the next she utters is very  
low. "Marked me inside and made me theirs. What if—that's all I am? All I'll ever be?"

"Staked everythin' on the theory you're a person, once," he says. "I'd do it again, no question."

She withdraws, glancing up at him. "How can you be sure?"

"You think I've been wool-gathering, them times I've spent with you?" he responds. "Glimpsed it  
before, but it's been different since Miranda. Kaylee says you've blossomed, and I ain't much for  
the flowery talk, but I reckon that's as fitting a description as any. You _are_ a person, don't doubt  
that." He gives a smile. "And a person I'm liking, besides."

She swallows, struck by his answer, and mumbles, not quite meeting his gaze, "Like you back."

"Well, that's real nice to hear." He lifts a hand and ruffles her hair. "Going to brew some fresh coffee,  
but there might be milk left, if you'd prefer chocolate?" At her nod of affirmation, he says, "Come  
along, then."

He disentangles, rising to fetch his mug, and River gets up, wincing at a slight cramp in the leg that's  
been folded under her, but it soon passes, and she walks with him to the kitchen area, hovering to  
assist as he makes the preparations. Before long, she has her fingers wrapped around a mug of her  
own, waiting for him to refill his, and blows on the liquid to cool it, the steam heating her face.

"Lounge?" he suggests, raising a brow.

"Lounge," she agrees, and leads the way.

She sinks down to settle on one of the chairs and he does the same. River sips from her mug,  
savouring the taste, and sighs. She's taken to saving the good things, tucking them away like  
mementoes, catching them like fireflies, to use as tiny lights against the dark. And this, she decides,  
being curled up in the lounge with the captain beside her, drinking hot chocolate, is a moment like  
that. One of the very good things.


	4. Late Night Talk

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement is  
intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: It's seven days since Inara left again.  
**Author's note**: Written for the prompt Love at the 10hurtcomfort challenge community on  
Livejournal.

**  
Late Night Talk**  
**by Hereswith**

It's seven days since they left Sihnon behind, a week has gone past since Inara stepped off _  
Serenity_ and walked in a direction opposite Mal's, and the captain is still turned inward, marked  
by the absence, though he makes no show of it and acts with studied calm. 

When River enters the bridge, he's already there, but her tread is tiptoe light, she isn't wearing her   
boots, and he doesn't note her arrival. He's leaning back in the pilot's seat, deep in a dark place  
of mind, and she hesitates near the doorway, reluctant to intrude. Before she can decide what to  
do, however, he becomes aware of her, perhaps it's the weight of her gaze, or by the pricking of  
his thumbs, though she isn't so very wicked, even if she _has_ been called a witch.

He shifts to look at her. "River?"

"Should I leave?" she says, balancing, half prepared to pivot on her heel.

He gives a slight shake of the head. "Stay if you like. Seems too quiet round here anyhow."

She makes her way to the co-pilot's chair and sits down. "When it's too quiet, you hear yourself  
think too loud."

"Yes," Mal agrees. "That's the trouble."

She glances at him. "I can listen. Be all ears for you."

"That's mighty kind," he says, "and I appreciate you offering, but it's how it is. Ain't much to be  
talking about."

His expression reveals nothing, but the air ripples with the unsaid and she catches, without intending  
to, the tail end of a pain he quickly curbs. "Wasn't your fault," she ventures. "Or hers. Can't make  
something fit, if it doesn't. Not without cutting it out of shape."

"You an expert on such things, are you?" he asks, but there's no bite in his tone.

"It's common sense," she replies, but adds, far softer, "I'm sorry." He nods, his attention straying  
to the windows and the black, and River swivels the seat back and forth with her feet, pondering.  
"I'll never have that."

"Have what?"

"Love." It wouldn't have mattered before, the have or not have of it, but she's less jumbled inside  
than she was, and more conscious of what's lost. What _they_ stole. "It's not for me."

He makes a small, huffing sound. "And why's that?"

"You _know_," she says, in reproach. "I'm not right in the brain, not normal."

"There's few of us are _normal_," he responds, unfazed, "comes to scratching 'neath the surface.  
Mightn't be like them other girls, but you ain't wrong. You're River. Any boy'd be fortunate you  
give him the time of day."

He states it with emphasis and she doesn't quite believe it's true, but she believes that he means  
it. "You're a good man, Malcolm Reynolds."

It takes him off guard, she can tell, and his brows dip. "Am I?"

Though it isn't precisely a proper question posed to her, more a musing, she answers him. "I can  
read you. Patterns and alignments. And I've met enough bad men to tell the difference."

He regards her, sympathy clearing his frown. "Reckon you have."

Memory lurks, readied to spring, but she shoves it aside, focusing on the here, the now, the captain.  
"A good man," she repeats, "and you have a good heart. Don't make it cold. You'll find someone  
to hold it safe."

"Who says that's what I want?" She casts him a look, the one she's honed and perfected on Simon,  
and he concedes, "Well. Leastaways not anytime soon I don't. I'm real tired of bein' spun about."

"Makes sense," she replies. "So dizzy you can't see straight. You have to stand still and close your  
eyes. Wait for it to pass."

"Something like that," he sighs, rubbing the side of his face. "It's getting late. I'm for bed. What  
about you?"

"Not yet." She draws her left leg up under her, settling more comfortably. "I'll watch the stars  
a while."

"Alright." Mal rises, stretching, then approaches the co-pilot's chair and puts his hand on her shoulder.  
"Thanks, little one."

With a sudden impulse she tilts her head to rest her cheek against his fingers, the backs of his   
knuckles, and the silence unfolds a moment, neither of them moving, before she cranes her neck up  
at him.

The quirk of his lips, faint as it is, brief though it is, is laced with genuine warmth, and he gives her  
shoulder a squeeze. "_Wăn ān_."

"Good night," she echoes, and as he departs, follows him with her gaze until he's disappeared  
from sight. "He smiled," she says, to the dinosaurs, to the humming ship that surrounds her. "It's  
something, isn't it?"

And she's certain that they all agree.


	5. Something Precious

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement is  
intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: Mal is in trouble and River goes to get him.  
**Author's note**: Written for the prompt Injured at the 10hurtcomfort challenge community on  
Livejournal. Mal and River are in an established relationship in this one, and it's set more than  
a year after the movie.

**  
Something Precious**  
**by Hereswith**

It's a bad day, a black day, shadowed dark though the sun's heat glances off the dust and rocks in ripples  
and bloodied red, like Mal's face where he's been struck, over and again, his lip splitting. 

River hands the binoculars to Zoe and kicks a stone, hard, almost stubs her toes through the boot. She  
had been on _Serenity_ with the others, while Mal and Zoe went to town, not with him, when simple became  
complicated, and now he's bound, trussed, tied up against a fence, and they are _hurting_ him. _Āi yā_! Anger  
scours through her, blurs all reasoning and she closes her eyes, breathes deep and lets it out, forcing her  
head to clear.

"I'm going in," she says, her smile a flicker, a baring of teeth. "They don't know me. They'll think I'm  
harmless."

"Probably will," Zoe agrees, prodding the swelling on her temple with a grimace. "And it'd distract them  
enough Jayne and I could get up close. Jayne?"

"Yeah," he replies. "Works for me."

Zoe gazes at River. "Be careful."

River nods as response and starts down the slope, in the direction of the small, shabby ranch house. She  
hides among the bushes, at first, then steps into full view, easing her shoulders back, and her pulse quickens  
though she moves like she's strolling, not a trouble in the 'verse.

It isn't long before someone spots her.

"What the—" a blond-curled youth exclaims. "Hey!"

She stops and waits as he advances, aware of the picture she presents, her dress and hair flowing, her  
arms loosely at her sides, empty palms showing. What he sees he believes, she can tell, he doesn't guess  
at the danger, that she holds herself as ready as she would have a weapon, pressure on the trigger.

He waves his gun at her. "How'd you get here?"

"I walked," she replies, and when he frowns, elaborates, "You put one foot in front of the other, until  
you arrive."

The frown changes to a scowl. "You crazy or what?"

"I was," she admits. "But not so much anymore. I can keep my thoughts in order most of the time, sorted  
as they should be."

It's a truth, but not one he comprehends. With an annoyed grunt, he seizes her, pulling her along, and she  
allows it. The other men are gathering around, curiosity painted in bold strokes across their features, and  
Mal, Mal raises his head at the commotion, regarding her with very little surprise, but some concern, and  
it's an effort, an ache, not to run to him.

Her captor halts, releasing her abruptly. "Clyde!"

The sparsely bearded man she had glimpsed through the binoculars, punching Mal with such relish, strides  
towards them, and River clenches her fists. Zoe had said this Clyde had provoked Mal into a fight after  
bumping into him on the street. Clyde had ended up dunked and drenched in a water trough, and sworn to  
make Mal pay. He had—with the help of his gang, eight of them attacking Mal and Zoe by ambush.

"What's this about?" Clyde demands. "Who are you?"

"I came to find something I lost." The wind tangles in her hair and she brushes the strands from her cheeks.  
"Something precious."

"Eh?" he says, his brows lifting, bushy-winged. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She points at Mal, her finger steady, and her voice. "Him."

Clyde's gaze narrows. "Him?"

"You took him," she continues. "You and your men. I want him back."

Clyde barks out a sudden laugh. "You've got brass, I'll grant you that." He turns to Mal. "Yours, is she?"

"More like I'm hers," Mal replies, and though it's obvious the bruises pain him, he gives River a slight  
wink. "You'd best do what she says. She gets a mite tetchy when she don't get her will." He adds, as  
if in confidence,"Trust me, I've been there. It ain't pretty."

Scattered chuckles and snickering spread to fill the air, and a man in the group comments, "That itty-bitty  
thing? She's gonna take all o' us?"

Her senses sharpen to a fine edge, her body relaxing into position. "Watch me," she says, then spins on her  
heel, and dances.

One, she counts, as the first of them goes down, and a stunned tumult ensues. Two, with a high wheel kick  
and she lands with a thud, ducks and twists, deflecting a gun, then takes a swing, connecting with jarring  
impact, and that's three. In the periphery, she can hear Jayne calling to Zoe and the sound of a weapon  
being fired, but her attention is diverted elsewhere, because Clyde is too near to Mal for her comfort, and  
he's wielding a knife.

She covers the distance so fast, her heart beats and then she's on him, the snap of bone a grim satisfaction,  
and Clyde drops the knife, falling to his knees in a fit of screaming and cursing, clutching his wrist. Which  
makes four. Jayne and Zoe, she notes, have already dealt with the rest.

"You shouldn't have hit him," she informs Clyde, a calm statement of fact.

Zoe comes up next to her, rifle trained on Clyde, and River bends at the waist, picking up the knife. When  
she straightens, the blade glinting bright in her grasp, Clyde flinches, but she passes him without a glance.

"_Yāo nŭ_!" Clyde spits after her, the moment of fear shifting to rage. "Demon woman! I'll have you—"

"No, you won't," Zoe interrupts, cutting off his tirade by sending him sprawling unconscious with the butt  
of her rifle.

River, meanwhile, concentrates on sawing through Mal's bonds, and once he shrugs free of the ropes, she  
discards the knife and he's in her arms, her face against his chest, pressed into the fabric of his shirt, and  
she mumbles his name like a question.

"Reckon it could be worse," he says, wryly. "Are _you_ all right?"

She affirms it, then draws away from him, chiding, "You take more looking after than my brother," and grins  
when he mutters in rueful derision, because he's alive, and she has him safe.

Zoe approaches together with Jayne, and Mal nods at her. "Good to see you."

"And you, sir," she replies. "Mule's on the far side of the hill."

"I'll manage. Least to get out of this place." Gingerly, Mal leans over Clyde, retrieving a gun River recognises  
as his, and holsters it. "Let's go."

As they make their way from the ranch, she stays beside him, observing him keenly. He doesn't complain,  
but he's lock-jawed and pale, and every so often he winces, touching his ribs.

At the bottom of the slope, that ragged rise of ground, he falters a mere second and she reaches out, catching  
his fingers in hers. "In case you stumble."

He says nothing, but his eyes gentle and he squeezes her hand.


	6. Fairground Distraction

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement is  
intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: Mal finds River sitting idle and pensive one too many times.  
**Author's note**: Written for the prompt Lonely at the 10hurtcomfort challenge community  
on Livejournal.

**  
Fairground Distraction**  
**by Hereswith**

When Mal finds her sitting pensive and idle for the third time within an hour, he halts beside her and  
says, "Right. That's it." 

Roused from her inertia, River shifts on the couch and gazes up at him. "What is?"

"Doc and Kaylee won't be back before tomorrow evening at the earliest," he replies, "and I'll be  
gorramned if I'll have you moping around 'til then."

"I'm not _moping_," she protests, but it isn't entirely true, and at his doubting look, she sighs, because it  
_has_ only been a day since Simon whisked Kaylee away to that cosy inn in the town. "I miss him a little.  
It's silly, isn't it?"

"Not hardly," he says, with a softer tone, "the two of you being so close. But it's pretty natural they'd  
want to be alone together for a spell, romantic-like."

She bites her lip, but nods, aware that what her brother has with Kaylee is theirs, private, no peeking,  
and not always for her to share. "I know."

"You mentioned something about a fair, didn't you?" he asks. "On the riverbank?"

She makes a face. "You don't have to baby-sit me."

He holds his hands up in a placating gesture. "Wouldn't dream of it. I'm offering my company, is all, if  
you'll have it."

River studies him, frowning, but he doesn't fidget a bit under her scrutiny. "Don't you have things to do?"

"Not now I don't. And I could use a break. Might be the others could, as well. What do you say?"

She gives it a thought, two, but that decides it. "Need to fetch my sweater."

The din of the fairground flows and swells around them, like waves washing on a shore: the shouting and  
the laughter, and the blaring music from the rides. Jayne had come with them, but soon disappeared in  
the crowd, his sights set on a girl, so it's just River and the captain, resting on a bench beside a striped  
tombola stall while she finishes her cotton candy, spun sugar melting on her tongue.

"Anything in particular you'd fancy doing?"

She discards the empty cone and carefully wipes her fingers clean. "Would you go with me on a ride?"

"Which one?" he replies. "The merry-go-round?"

She scoffs and points to the left instead, at the swing carousel whirling, coloured lights flashing in the  
gathering dusk, against the deepening blue of the sky.

His lips quirk. "Should've figured that's what you'd pick."

"Yes, you should," she says. "The merry-go-round is dull. Too slow and flat on the ground."

"Hmm." He considers the swing carousel. "It tilts. And them seats go out over the water on one side."

"That's the fun part." She eyes him sidelong. "Dare you."

"You do, do you?" Amusement flickers through his gaze. "Well, that settles it." He stands, stretching  
his back. "Where's the line?"

River jumps to her feet at once, seizing on his agreement. "There."

The wait is short, but the precautions take a while, the operator locking the lap bars and safety belts  
tight, and she glances over her shoulder at Mal, behind her in the single row of seats.

"Still here," he says and adds, with a teasing smile, "Can't be worse than the stunts you pulled flying  
week before last."

She glares in mock affront. "Never lost control."

"Didn't imply otherwise," he replies, and indicates the operator. "Let's hope _he's_ got things in hand."

"He isn't nervous. Or drunk. And the probability of a malfunction is relatively slight," she tells him,  
and it causes his smile to widen briefly.

The ride starts with a jolt, elevating as it rotates, putting an end to the conversation. With a thrill of  
excitement River turns forward, dangling her legs and taking in the views of the bustling fairground,  
the town beyond, and the broad ribbon of the river. Before long, the speed increases, faster and faster,  
until her hair whips around her and the seats swing out, high above the earth, above the water, then  
the top of the carousel tilts at a perfect angle and it's like falling, soaring in the air, the wind and the  
world rushing past.

When it's over, she's bubbling and skipping, and Mal, who isn't looking green or blanched, or terribly  
bored—she's checked—shakes his head at her enthusiasm, but she grins and says, "You enjoyed  
it, too."

"Wasn't a complete waste of time," he replies, then grows serious, his eyes focusing on something  
distant, far further off than the planet's horizon. "They had one of those, a mite smaller, at this fair  
back on Shadow. Ain't had much call to be on a carousel since."

"I haven't either," she says. "Since _before_."

He returns his attention to her. "You reckon that makes us a sorry pair, little one?"

"Carousel-deprived," she concurs, in a sage manner. "It's very sad. But it might be remedied by  
repeated exposure, don't you think?"

He arches a brow. "Meaning you'd like to go again?"

"Yes." She hesitates. Logically, it shouldn't matter if he won't, the seats are separate, not double. But  
she'd rather he would. "Could we?"

He's silent, regarding her, then says, "Once more, then, if you—"

She could hug him, so she does—his arm, at least. "You're the best of captains."

He snorts a chuckle. "I'll remind you of that next you complain my reasoning's fallacious, shall I?"

She merely beams at him.


	7. Fall Into Me

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement is  
intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: Zoe's hurt. Mal is keeping watch and River watches with him.  
**Author's note**: Written for the prompt Tears at the 10hurtcomfort challenge community on  
Livejournal. Mal and River are in an established relationship in this one, and it's set more than  
a year after the movie.

**  
Fall Into Me**  
**by Hereswith**

It isn't a bullet, a blow, when it happens, not a purposed thing. Mal and Zoe agree to help out on a cattle ranch,  
planetside and between jobs as they are, and in the rain that comes pelting, sleeting from the slopes of the hills, the  
ground is made treacherous. Zoe's horse goes down under her, and though the animal lurches, all lumbering weight,  
to its feet, Zoe doesn't. Cuts and fractures, these Simon can treat, but Zoe is deep in the dark, she can't be reached.  
Doesn't respond to whisper or shout. 

It has them staggering, it gives them pause, and _Serenity_ quiets to the rivets of her as Simon states, "I've done what  
I can. The sooner she regains consciousness the better."

But he can't tell them when.

Mal stays by Zoe, keeping watch, while the rest of the crew drift in and out, the infirmary and the woman lying there   
unmoving forming the axis around which everyone turns. And River knows: Mal would stand guard until he drops, if  
necessary, without concern for himself. So she watches with him.

"You don't have to, darlin'," he says, his voice pitched for her, but his eyes are fixed unflinching on his first mate.

"Maybe not," she replies, crossing her legs at the ankles, her hands in her lap. Settling in for the long haul. For him  
and Zoe both. "But I want to."

His smile is faded, smudged at the corners, and still her heart catches on it, like it always does.

An hour passes as slowly as a year. Simon examines Zoe again, only to determine there's been no change, and Mal  
starts to pace. It might have been to stretch out the kinks in his muscles, but his steps are quick and it's worry that  
drives him, River can sense it, his fear and guilt and _Zoe_. His mind is flooded with thoughts of her, scraped raw from  
the memories that rush to the surface, into the shallows, so vivid that River has to pull back or be pulled in, her  
focus blurred.

She's seen him like this before, but not since they have been together, his neck unbent and his head high by force of  
will under the burden he's shouldered. The lives he feels responsible for. His men. His crew. Those buried that he  
couldn't save. Losing Zoe might break him. Cut his moorings loose and make him crack from side to side. And she's  
too familiar with _broken_, the picking up of pieces, she wishes she could spare him the pain, take it from him, but  
she can't.

It's two hours and counting, and Jayne enters, hovering in the doorway. "Nothing?" he asks, grumbling at the  
confirmation, "That ain't good, is it?"

And Mal says, "No."

River regards him at length, after Jayne has left. He's rubbing the bridge of his nose, his lips a thin, hard line, and finally,  
she gets up, walking over to him. Because she learned early on to judge when he needs space and when she might, or  
should interfere, but they _are_ together now, and that makes a difference in how she acts on the understanding. In what  
she can offer him and what he'll accept.

He's taller, but he's seated and she isn't, so she can easily cup her palms around his jaw, her fingers on the curving  
contours of bone, the faint pulsing of blood at his temples. The beginnings of stubble prickle her skin and his gaze,  
raised to hers, is haunted, edged, devoid of the tears that might have tempered it.

"Mal," she says, her tone insistent. "She isn't one of your dead. Don't mourn her like she was."

He swallows once, several times, but doesn't struggle against her grasp. "Might well be, if she don't wake."

"_If_," she replies, singling out that element of hope. The possibilities inherent in the word. "It isn't certain fact. Not real."

"Not yet," he mutters, the sentence short enough, but it crumbles at the end. When she draws him near, he falls wide  
open to it, his arms circling her waist, his face against her breast. He doesn't speak, merely breathes and holds on to her,  
each silent exhalation warming her through the dress, and she enfolds him, gives him this and anchorage, resting her chin  
on the top of his head.

"It'll be all right," she says, later, and repeats it, "It will."

He glances at her. "You calculating the odds, _băo bèi_, or do you believe?"

"Believe," she admits, for the chances become less with the ticking of the clock. "She wouldn't go without a fight."

But Zoe is stretched out like she's sleeping, at peace, her eyelids closed, and though River leans in, she can't detect any  
hint of upwards flicker.

"Owed my life to her, more often than not," Mal comments. "My sanity, too. Wouldn't have made it through the war  
without her."

River straightens. "Tell her, not me. Talk to her. She might hear you."

"Question is if she'd listen," he replies, with a spark of brittle-dry humour, then nods. "S'pose I could."

"Worth it to try." She dips, pressing a kiss to his cheek, lingering with it. "Three would be a crowd. I'll be back. After."

It grows late, the third hour of waiting. He won't eat the food she brings him from the galley. It doesn't surprise her, really,  
and she puts it away, her own appetite as poor. Kaylee has joined them, and she's next to Zoe, her expression downcast  
as she brushes a lock of the other woman's hair into order.

Then. River snaps to attention, the reading so clear, so longed for, an instant before Kaylee gasps and says, "Zoe?"

Mal rises in such haste he stumbles and River dashes barefoot, breathless out of the room and up the stairs to get her  
brother.

When she returns with Simon, with Jayne, Zoe is drowsy and weak, but aware, and she remembers what she should, if  
not entirely the details of the accident. Simon is thorough, checking her for signs of damage, but he seems satisfied with  
the results, prescribing rest and continued monitoring.

"No stressful activity," he finishes. "If possible."

"Got the money to lie low, leastways a while," Mal replies. Zoe frowns, like she's about to argue, but he pre-empts her.  
"Ain't havin' you lift a finger till you're healed proper. And that's that."

Zoe slightly arches a brow, her eyes amused. "If you say so, sir."

He isn't shining with relief from the outside, like Kaylee, like River imagines she might be herself, but the strain of tension  
is gone, for this time, and she sneaks up beside him to share the moment, smiling at Zoe.

There will be a road to recovery, winding or direct, but that is more, far more than there might have been, and a gift.


	8. A Slip of the Mind

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement is  
intended and I'm certainly not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: Mal says something unexpected, and River is bothered by it.  
**Author's note**: Written for the prompt Emotion at the 10hurtcomfort challenge community on  
Livejournal. Set more than a year after the movie, and the two of them are in a relationship here.

**  
A Slip of the Mind**  
**by Hereswith**

He's tangled in sheets and sleep, and she gets up carefully, strives to avoid disturbing him, but can't keep from  
stealing a kiss, a taste of him, her hair trailing over his arm, and he stirs beneath her, mumbling, "'Nara."

River flinches upright, away, her thoughts crash colliding, and in the half-gloom she stares at him as he rolls over on  
his stomach, oblivious, returning to a deeper slumber. The bed where he rests is their bed, now. An intimacy shared  
between them, so new it's downy, barely fledgling, counted by weeks, numbered less than the fingers on one hand.

And he dreamed. But didn't dream of her.

_xx _

"You ain't said more'n two words to me since breakfast." It's a moment alone, on the sidewalk along the town's  
main thoroughfare, and his frown is a question. "Can't figure what I've done. I'd take it as a kindness if you'd  
tell me."

She hesitates, voices it too low, and her answer is drowned out by the snort, the restless stomp of hoof from the  
horse tethered to the hitching post nearby.

"_Shénme_?" Mal says. "You have to speak up, I can't hear you."

"You called me Inara." There, blurted out, with no pauses between, but he makes sense of it and his expression  
becomes sharply nonplussed.

"I did what? When?"

"The early hours," she replies. "I kissed you. You mistook me for her."

He opens his mouth, snaps it shut, then shakes his head, not in denial, but disbelief. "Must've been out of it, then,  
'cause I don't remember. Damned if I know why. You're nothing like her."

No. Nothing like Inara. She doesn't listen for more, closes off to him, her reaction instinctive, one of sheer  
rubbed-the-wrong-way, bristling emotion, and it must have shown. He curses, reaching for her, and she bolts.

"River!"

But she's down the wooden sidewalk, careening past Jayne, almost causing him to drop the sack he's hefting.

"Hey!" he exclaims. "Watch it! _Fēng le_ girl."

Behind the houses at the far edge of the street, there's a copse, and once she reaches it, she loses wind, momentum,  
her legs won't carry her further. She sinks onto the ground, the autumn smell of mouldering leaves around her, a burn  
in her cheeks and chest, and she's aware the flight was rash. She can't hide for long, they have to get back to the ship,  
the others will ask for her, and Simon—will lock horns with Mal, if he learns of it. She grimaces and puts her hands  
to her face, wishing she could begin the day over.

_xx_

When he comes in search of her, she still hasn't mustered the energy and resolve to plod the distance back into town.  
Instead, she's perched on a fallen log, poking about at random among the yellow-brown leaves with a branch, and  
though her pulse beats a flutter, she remains in place as he approaches.

After skirting around a brambly bush, he halts to stand in front of her. There are, she notes, small scuff marks on his  
boots. He says, "Didn't stop running so's you could start."

It's a mild, even-toned observation rather than a reprimand, and she can't argue against it. She drops the branch,  
brushing bark dust off her fingers, then lifts her head, acknowledging his point. "I shouldn't have. Talking is better."

"Ain't always I'm expert at it my own self," he replies, "but it clears the air some. And I can't rightly fix things if you  
won't let me."

"No." She moves to the left, leaving just enough space for him on the other end of the log. "You could try again."

"I could," he agrees, "and I aim to." He takes a seat and leans forward, elbows on thighs, squinting at the sun breaking  
through the latticework of the trees. A bird rustles and twitters in the undergrowth. "Reckon I went and put my foot in  
my mouth afore."

She sighs, and glances at her knees, stained dirt-dark from when she sat with them pressed into the damp earth. "It's  
true. I'm not like her."

"Didn't need me flinging it at you that instant," he says, turning partly towards her. "I didn't mean it's for the bad. It's  
different, is all, and I don't go round comparing you—or hankerin' after her on the side. I'm hoping you trust that."

"I do. Usually," she responds, and in honest admission, "You said her name. It stung. Even if it was subconscious."

"Don't doubt it would." He looks rueful. "On behalf of my blundering subconscious, I'm sorry." He falls silent, giving  
emphasis to it, and weight, then continues, "Times are she might cross my mind. I can't well erase what's been, like it  
never happened. But you were there through it."

She nods, she was, and she can recall the gleam in his eyes, the mornings that followed the nights, back then, but also,  
and equally, the shadows under them, before the parting. "Ups and downs."

"Yeah." He straightens and regards her, very serious, spelling it out. "I ain't with her, I'm with you. And I wouldn't  
be if I didn't want you, darlin'."

She takes it in, absorbs it, that calm reassurance, the effort he's making, and she aches inside with something that isn't  
pain, and not quite desire, though it's as much because of him, tied into the layers of layers of what she feels for him.

"River," he says, with a hint of concern, a reminder that she hasn't replied.

"I'm here." She bends to curl across, to lay her head on his lap, facing outwards. He shifts to accommodate her, bringing  
his knees closer together, and she settles more comfortably, tucking a hand under her chin. "Apology accepted."

She can't see his smile, but it's in the change of his breathing and mood, a quick, bright flash, and he touches her hair,  
her neck, cradles her shoulder. "So," he asks, slightly tentative, "are we—"

"Yes," she confirms. "We're okay."


	9. From Out of the Blue

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement is intended and  
I'm not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: While planetside, River falls ill. Narrated in first person by an original character, a local woman.  
**Author's note**: Written for the prompt Sick at the 10hurtcomfort challenge community on Livejournal. Mal  
and River are in a relationship here, but it's fairly new. Set more than a year after the movie.

**  
From Out of the Blue **  
**by Hereswith**

Minding the store, I was, and it a sullen afternoon, with a fair bit of wind in the air. None but Martha'd been in for hours,  
and lordy be, my ears still rang from her prattling, so I was meaning to close up and go make me some tea, when the  
doorbell jingled its tune.

Two girls entered, and I'd recognise most of the youngsters from hereabouts, but these were strangers. The older, she  
gave me a prompt reply when I greeted them, her smile wide and sunny, while her friend, that had this long, brown shining  
hair, was a quiet one. They disappeared behind the racks, over to where I keep the dresses, and I let them browse around,  
but then I heard a clatter and a thud like someone had dropped, pole-axed, and it had me sitting up straight, that did.

"River!"

I got up and went to them fast as I could. It was the long-haired girl down on the floor and I could anticipate what the  
matter was, the way she cradled her head, so the bushfire heat of her skin against my palm, as I bent to touch her, no  
more than confirmed it. "River, is it?"

She made to nod, but flinched, her shoulders hunching up, and the other girl, crouched beside us, said, "Yes, she's River.  
And I'm Kaylee."

"Mrs. Flatt. Ada," I informed them, in turn. "You've been out in the fens, River?"

"I went exploring." River paused, breathing in through her teeth. "It hammers. Like my skull might split."

I rocked back on my heels and clucked my tongue. "It's the marsh-fever, dearie."

Whatever it was Kaylee had believed was the cause, that can't have been it, for the relief was clear as day on her face,  
but a new fear soon replaced it. "Is that—she'll be okay, won't she?"

Now, that's how it is with the fever, it hits you quick and hard, that's the truth, but it's rare enough it takes a soul, and if it  
does, it's the elderly at risk, the already poorly. Or the children. I felt a twinge in my heart, reminded of my own girl, my  
Falla, who would've been about River's age, had she lived, but there wasn't time to wax maudlin.

"Don't you worry," I answered. "The worst of it should be over by morning." And I couldn't well do else, what with River  
in that pitiful state, so I also said, "Best she gets in bed. I've a room to spare."

It was agreed upon and I had Kaylee lock up the store, while I helped River off the floor. She swayed, I had to grab her  
or she would've toppled, and she was slight and frail-seeming, but she clutched my arm in a bruising grip, muscles wrapped  
taut around those bird bones. We bore the weight of her between us, Kaylee and me, and led her through to the living  
quarters at the back. River didn't complain, though the jostling must've hurt her fierce, but she leaned on Kaylee for  
support as I pulled the bedclothes down. She was pale near to ashen, and when we got her seated on the bed, she sank  
onto her side, boots and all.

"I'll fetch Simon," Kaylee said to her. River mumbled in response and Kaylee added, "The cap'n, too."

Stepping away from the bed, Kaylee gazed a question. "I'll watch over her," I replied. "Take the kitchen door."

She hurried from the room and I drew the curtains, then removed River's boots and got her tucked in. She was seized  
with the shivers, poor thing, her eyes squeezed tight shut. "Just you rest," I told her. "I'll get you something to ease that  
_ kě pà de_ headache."

It's bitter, that brew, the mixture of herbs makes it so, but it does what it's intended to, and River swallowed it to the  
drop, emptying the cup I brought her with desperate greed. She settled against the pillow once more, and I stroked her  
hair, I sang to her soft, I'm not ashamed to admit it, like she was littler, the songs I used to sing to soothe my daughter.

_xx_

Kaylee returned with the menfolk in tow, and another woman, besides, tall and dark. One of the men had a doctor's kit,  
and he was a good sight younger and prettier than our Amos. He had this look about him like he'd fit right in some  
gentleman's parlour, but the other fellow, he was a gunman, same as the tall woman, and if they hadn't been friends of  
the girls', I'd have been wary of them.

Which was Simon and which was the captain, I had figured to start. What they were to River, I was busy sorting when  
she groaned and shifted where she lay, and the two men rushed to her side, their faces painted with a like concern. But  
Simon, he brushed the dampened hair from her cheek, with a low, "_Mèimei_," betraying them as kin.

"Don't argue," River replied, her voice reedy, but resolved. "Promise."

It had me stumped. That was, until I spotted the glance between Simon and the captain, prickly like them blackberry  
bushes by the garden fence, and I thought, so, that's the trouble of it, as Simon said, "I promise."

River stuck her hand from under the covers, groping, and when the captain captured it in his, she continued, "Stay. Both  
of you."

"They'd have to throw me out, darlin'," said the captain.

Since I'd made heads and tails of it by then, the endearment didn't much surprise me, though I can't say I understood it.  
He was a rough sort of man, to be sure, and she such a wisp of a girl. But I recalled that whip-cord strength in her, and  
it had me wondering.

Her brother didn't seem pleased, but made nothing of it, assuring her instead. "I won't leave."

Turning, he seized on me for a bucket-full of questions, and I explained as well as I could about the fever, how it runs  
its course through the body and there's nothing to do but weather it out, like a summer storm across the fields. He  
listened, frowning, then, with some comment about inadequate inoculations, walked over to examine the girl, as though  
my word couldn't be trusted. I let it pass, they were outlanders, not used to our ways, and he an outlander doctor, but  
when he suggested they'd take her back to the ship, I had to put him straight.

"There'll be none of that." I must've been his elder by a number of years and stern as a parent, I fixed him with an  
admonishing glare. "Care and quiet, it's what she needs, not being dragged about the town. And don't think I'm talking  
through my hat, young man, I've nursed more than my share of marsh-fever sick."

In the end, I had him convinced, though the shadow on his brow persisted, and his mood wouldn't lift, I suspected,  
until River was on her feet.

The captain was perched on the bed, as River had curled up clutching his hand, and he addressed the tall woman, "Zoe."

"I'll track down Jayne," she replied, like he'd spelled out instructions along with her name. "Tell him we've been held  
up. And I'll see to the cargo."

Simon asked her to bring some things from their medical supply, and Zoe assented, then quit the room, and I swear,  
for all she'd been silent previous, you noticed her absence. Kaylee approached Simon, slipping her arm through his to  
comfort—that's how I learned they were sweet on each other—and I took myself off, to prepare linens and water  
for the hours ahead.

_xx_

Evening fell, as cloud-dark as the day had been, and Kaylee helped me make supper. Zoe was by for a while, and that  
Jayne, a big and blunt-spoken man, and though the rest scarce ate, he cleaned his plate and more.

I sat vigil with them through the night, and if they argued, Simon and the captain, or Mal, as they called him, I never heard  
it, so that promise was kept. We tended to River, making her as comfortable as we could, and it stirred up hard memories,  
but I did it willing, and she wasn't a child, or as delicate in health as Falla had been, she wouldn't fade away before me.

Still, the illness took a toll. She was often tossing on the bed, and there was once she flailed and twisted something bad,  
and we couldn't restrain her, because that set her to a high-pitched shrieking. Simon had the medicine to calm her, but it  
was difficult, the wait before it did its trick. After it eased, she buried her face in Mal's shirt, and what he whispered,  
I couldn't make out, it wasn't for any of us, only for her, but he was gentle as you can imagine.

Another time, the fever must have affected her brain, for she spoke to her brother as though he wasn't in front of her.  
"They won't let me see you," she choked out, a wild grief about her. "The system isn't stable, the centre will collapse,  
and you won't find me."

I shook my head, it was crazy ramblings to me, but Simon shushed her and replied, like it made a world of sense to him,  
"I will. I'm here, _mèimei_. I'm here."

It isn't always there's such strong affection between siblings grown, the Denton sisters down the road, they can't even  
act civil, but with River and Simon, you couldn't mistake the bond.

Late morning, we were flat out exhausted. I'd coaxed Kaylee to go lie on my bed, Simon was in the washroom, and Mal  
slumped in the armchair, his eyes shut, so I was closest to River when her lashes fluttered open.

The fever had broken, her forehead was cool and dry, and I said, "Hello, River. Do you remember me?"

"Mrs. Flatt," she affirmed, with a slow blink, and tried to wet her lips. Guessing she was thirsty, I propped her up on the  
pillow, giving her water to drink, and she said, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," I replied. Her smile was wan, but genuine, and I lost myself a moment, to the past and a morning when  
fate had been less kind, then strove to shrug it off, smiling back.

She regarded me, grave of a sudden, and intent. "I'm sorry."

It startled me to laughter. "What for, dearie?"

"_About_," she corrected, her brows snapping sharp together, like her brother's, but Simon interrupted us, his  
relieved exclamation rousing Mal from his dozing, and with the to-do that resulted, River didn't get a chance to say more.

_xx_

I went to the kitchen by and by, putting the kettle on, and that's where the captain came in search of me. Rumpled and  
unshaven, he was, but his step was light. "We're obliged to you, ma'am," he said. "For taking us in."

"Coffee?" I asked, and when he accepted, I wiped my fingers on my apron and filled a cup for him. "I did what  
anyone would."

"Reckon there's many would've turned us out." He leaned against the counter, balancing the cup in his hands. "We ain't  
got much money, but—"

"I don't want your money, Captain," I cut in, and you can be certain I was firm about it. "Seeing your River recovered, that's  
payment enough."

"Well," he replied, his expression musing. "Least let me mend that fence out back, and if you've machinery needin' repairs,  
Kaylee will get it done."

That offer, I didn't refuse. "I'd be grateful for it." The sun was streaming through the windows, a stark contrast to the day  
before, flooding the far corners of the room. I studied Mal as he sipped his coffee, it was the first we'd been alone, and  
I couldn't stop the question, though it wasn't my business, I knew. "A girl like that, how is it—"

"She's with a man like me?" he stated, and he'd read me right, though I wouldn't have framed it that harsh. "Didn't miss the  
glances, Mrs. Flatt." It had me embarrassed, but he didn't seem offended. "Been asking myself that. But it's her choice, and  
I ain't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, long as it lasts."

He didn't expect it to, not for her part, and she was young, I couldn't blame his doubts. "And you?"

His lips curved up crooked, and he didn't answer me direct, there's some men would and beat the drum, but he wasn't  
one of those. "She's special," was what he said. "Real special."

There was a tale hid in that, these bones of mine fair itched with it, like the thread of a story when you begin to unspool it,  
but the telling wasn't mine, and he didn't invite further conversation about it. I was curious, but held my tongue, and we  
discussed practical matters, after that.

_xx_

As it was a Saturday, I didn't have to bother with the store, and I hadn't planned to go visiting. My guests, they had  
a shipment to deliver, but it was decided they'd remain until the morning next, for River's sake, and I didn't mind it, the  
house had so sprung to life with the people around, the activity and the voices.

River spent most of the day napping, but when I carried a tray of food I'd cooked to the room, I discovered her awake,  
though she was too weak to be up and about. The others were elsewhere, on that occasion, and I lingered while she had the  
soup and the bread.

Finished, she put the bowl aside and plucked at a strand of her hair, grimacing. "It's tangled."

"You can clean up proper when you're healed," I replied, going to get a brush from the chest of drawers by the door, "but  
we can work out the knots, meanwhile."

I settled on the bed and River moved nearer to me to allow the brushing. Though I was careful, the odd tug made her wince  
some, but I was soon done, her hair smooth as a pelt under my fingers. Lulled by the repetitive motions, I said, "My daughter  
had hair like yours. Fine and dark." She stilled, but didn't speak, and I saved her from asking. "She died in the fever."

"You loved her very much."

"I did. Her pa abandoned us, so we only had each other." I lowered the brush, heaving a sigh. "That's years ago, now."

"It isn't fair. Death," she said, in a tone of experience. "Not for the dead, or those they leave behind."

I patted her hand. "Sounds like you've seen a heap of it, dearie."

She bit her lip. "Yes."

It took me aback, that simple answer, I hadn't thought she would concur. But she met my gaze, her eyes keen with intelligence  
and such knowing it unnerved me, like she'd witnessed things no person should have to, and I couldn't disbelieve her, then,  
or dismiss it as foolishness.

The threshold creaked, trod upon, and I almost jumped, but it was Mal, in from the yard. "We've repaired that fence good  
as new," he said, and smiled at River. "You feeling better?"

She nodded. "But I can't fly. There's no margin for error and I'm fuzzy, can't concentrate."

"You can ride shotgun with me, darlin'," he replied, rolling his sleeves down to button at the wrist. "It's been a while since  
you did."

The exchange confused me, and River must have caught on to it, for she told me, with an edge of pride, "I'm the ship's pilot."

"Oh." Me, I'd never had call to be travelling off-planet and it seemed awful daunting, going up into the black void of the sky.  
Even more so to be steering the path. "That must require great skill."

"She has the skill, all right," Mal said. "And a talent for it."

She grinned, at that, but she was worn by the illness, it showed, and her colour was draining. "You won't improve to do any  
kind of piloting," I said, "if you strain yourself. Go on, get back under the covers."

She opened her mouth, and I fancy it was a measure of how tired she was that she didn't wind up protesting, just did as she  
was bid. Rising, I indicated to Mal that he could take my place, and he did.

"_You_ should sleep," River said, touching his leg. "Or we'll crash anyway."

I was heading out with the tray, letting them have their privacy, and the last I overheard was his amused, "Yeah, I s'pose so."

_xx_

A time after dusk, I noted Simon outside the room. Through the doorway crack, the light was faint, but I could glimpse what it  
was he beheld: the captain stretched on top of the covers, River nestled against his shoulder, her arm around him like she was  
shielding him, and both deep in slumber.

"It's quite the peaceful scene," I observed, hushed, and Simon glanced at me. "You don't approve?"

"No," he said. "For several reasons, but then—there are moments like this, when I can't resent it. At least Mal and I agree  
on what's important. Her happiness."

"That's obvious." I was considering those fevered screams of River's and her haunted eyes, and it prompted me to ask, "It's  
something terrible she's been through, your sister, hasn't she?"

He hesitated, but didn't deny it. "She suffered a severe trauma. That she's able to cope to the degree she does is more than  
I could have hoped for."

Sadness laced it, like what was gained hadn't been without loss, and sympathy for the girl, and for Simon, welled within me.  
"She's a fighter, I'm sure."

An emotion I couldn't grasp flitted across his features. "Yes, she is." He closed the door, carefully, so as not to disturb the  
two. "Where's Kaylee? We should return to _Serenity_ for the night."

"Likely in the kitchen." I added, with sincere apology, "If I'd extra beds, you'd be welcome to them."

"It isn't necessary, Mrs. Flatt. River is out of danger," he said, "and someone's with her. I'll come over tomorrow."

"Of course," I replied, and he then took his leave.

_xx_

The night was tranquil, and I slept in past six, when I'm otherwise up, punctual as a clock. But I was alert before Simon arrived,  
as was Mal. River was abed, fatigued after she'd insisted on washing, and Simon, who'd brought her a change of clothes, went  
to check on her.

Mal was beside me at the kitchen table, and I said, "You'll be off right away?"

"Can't afford more delay," he replied, "and we've imposed on you plenty as it is."

"Nonsense," I scoffed, then gestured at the berry pie. "Eat up that slice, and I can soak the pan. No point wasting what's left."

He chuckled and reached for it. "Yes, ma'am."

A little later, Simon and River appeared, and though she was peaked and cautious-footed, she had no patience for fussing. Mal  
eyed her, and in answer to his scrutiny, she reproved, "I won't fall over."

"Could've fooled me," he muttered, and stood, pushing his chair in. "Doc?"

"She says she can manage," Simon answered.

River made a face at them. "Don't talk like I'm not here. I'm ready if you are."

I followed them to the garden gate, and the breeze was mild, the clouds white and lace-thin on the horizon. River halted and  
tilted her head to the sun, basking unabashed in it, after being cooped up and bedridden. It was Mal, and his, "River?" that  
drew her attention back to us.

She straightened her neck, and young she might have been, but the look she gave him, it was a woman's, bold and confident.  
Special, he'd said, and she was peculiar, I'd not dispute it, a bundle of contradictions. I hadn't understood it, River and her  
captain, and it wasn't that I did yet, not completely, but I realised I was viewing it different. And that look—like she was aware  
of his doubts, but determined to cure them. He had his hands full with her, as I live, as well as his heart.

Mal and Simon expressed their thanks and wished me farewell, but River, she tarried. "It pained you, having me in the house.  
In that room. Because of her."

"Bless me!" It was sober fact, I didn't sweep it aside, but I was anxious to reassure her. "That pain's an old, familiar one, and  
it's none of your fault. I couldn't do more for my daughter, but I could help you, and I'm glad for that. So, don't you fret about  
it, _dŏng ma_?" She wavered, as though weighing my words, then acknowledged it with a nod, and I said, in a lighter  
humour, "Fly safe now."

"We will." She stepped forward and pressed a kiss to my cheek that warmed me to the core. "Goodbye, Mrs. Flatt."

I didn't go indoors until they were out of sight, the three of them, and in the shank of the evening, that Sunday, I took a bunch  
of fresh flowers to Falla's grave, and sat a long time by the stone that marked it. I didn't ever see them again, Mal and his crew,  
but I haven't forgot what it was happened, and on some nights, when the stars shine, I gaze at those bright, twinkling dots,  
picturing River, and the others, somewhere up there among them.


	10. Under the Ice

**Disclaimer**: I don't own it. Everything you recognise belongs to Joss. No infringement is intended and  
I'm not making any money from this story.  
**Summary**: There's an accident on the ice.  
**Author's note**: Written for the prompt Fight at the 10hurtcomfort challenge community on Livejournal. Set some  
time after the movie. This is the tenth and therefore final ficlet in this series. Thank you to all who have been  
reading and reviewing!

**  
Under the Ice**  
**by Hereswith**

Two out of three are subdued, one unconscious and one disarmed. Zoe's searching them to retrieve the money they  
are owed, Jayne keeping guard, but on the ice-covered river, Mal's still trading blows with the third man, and River  
starts towards them. When the man lands his fist with full force, Mal staggers back, almost loses balance but rights  
himself. And the ice creaks.

The sound echoes, a low, rumbling groan fading into silence. Ignoring the now fleeing man, River concentrates on the  
captain, standing motionless, his arms slightly raised like he would take flight if he could, his face tense and lined with  
shadow in the lead-grey light.

"You stay away," he calls to her, in a tone of command, and she can recognise the sense of it, she skids to a halt,  
powdery snow dusting up around her boots.

She can't see the crack from this distance, how wide it is, if it branches out, spreading, but Mal takes a tentative step  
to escape, and his expression changes, clouding over, like there's a weakening where it was solid beneath him, and  
her fingers clench the instant before the ice snaps open, hollow and booming. He plummets, disappearing whole into  
the black, rushing water—cold, so cold it burns, she can't breathe—the shock of it, _his_ shock, causing her to bend over  
and gasp, the air chilled in her lungs, a tight fear inside her until he resurfaces, river-slick and coughing, his jacket  
drenched dark.

He tries to find purchase, but the frozen layer is thin, it breaks and breaks, she can hear the harsh, irregular note of  
his curses and, _calm down_, she wills him, he's hyperventilating from the submersion and panicking will make it worse.

"Zoe!" she shouts, spinning around, but the other woman has already realised the danger, she's approaching at  
a running speed, a branch that she must have grabbed in passing clutched in her hand.

"He can't get up," River says, as soon as Zoe arrives, and she _knows_ it, he's numbing, his core temperature dropping,  
it won't be long before hypothermia begins to set in, slowing his body's reactions. She adds, "I'm the lightest."

Zoe doesn't argue, she merely holds out the branch, and River takes it, solemn, accepting the weight of it and the trust.

"Hang on, sir," Zoe urges, "we're coming." And to River, her voice grim with warning, "Crawl. And don't go nearer than  
you have to, _dŏng ma_? Last thing we need is you both getting stuck in that hole."

"It would complicate the problem," River agrees, falling to her knees and, with no pause or hesitation, onto her stomach,  
pushing the branch along with her as she advances, anchored by Zoe's grasp on her ankles.

The damp cold seeps through her clothes, into her skin, she shivers from it, and her hair trails in the snow, catching on  
her elbows. Annoyed, she twists it out of the way, and extends the branch as far as she can manage, the length of her  
arm. It isn't enough, so she inches forward once more, stilling at a faint squeak and tremble of ice, waits poised, her  
heart palpitating, counting second after stumbling second. When nothing happens, she ventures further.

This time, the branch scrapes along the edge of the hole, but Mal is out of sight, and she cranes her neck, biting her lip  
hard—then, he's there, amidst the floes, it's the current he's fighting, it buffets him, threatening to sweep him downstream,  
trapped beneath the glassy surface. And it isn't hers, this dread of a slow sinking, of going under, being gone, but she  
understands it.

"Mal," she says, loud, "_Mal_," and it cuts across, carries past the spiralling train of his thoughts. He looks straight at her  
and she tells him, "You can make it."

She rattles the branch for emphasis, _here_! _Now_! He has no energy for a dry comment, but the glint in his eyes reassures  
her. Movements sluggish, he paddles in her direction, and with an effort reaches for the branch, misses, hitting the snow,  
but succeeds on his next attempt, and River braces for the tug.

"Pull me back," she instructs Zoe, and Jayne, whose grunt of affirmation follows Zoe's answer.

Kicking his legs horizontal, Mal labours to draw himself hand over hand as they drag him, waves sloshing, and he's up to  
his belly on solid ice, ice that doesn't fracture, when he suddenly fumbles, too stiff-fingered to maintain his grip.

He'll die. The river will take him if she doesn't. The decision is split-second and River acts as quickly, discarding the useless  
branch. She lunges for him, Zoe exclaiming behind her, but she's seized him by the arm, fists bunching in his jacket, and  
she _holds_, though he's water-logged and heavy, though her muscles strain in aching protest, and it's only the counterweight  
of Zoe and Jayne that keeps Mal and herself from sliding in.

"River?" Zoe's question is sharp, worry-laden, and River confirms, "Got him," then repeats it to Mal, puffing a small cloud of  
mist at each panted word. "I've got you. Won't let you slip."

He closes his hand around her right wrist, clumsily—she'll have bruises there, but it's inconsequential. She can feel the deep  
shudders going through him, the vibrations travel up her shoulder, and his mouth turns, not a smile, but acknowledgement,  
his teeth chattering as he speaks. "That's—good."

"Try again!" she flings over her shoulder, and like that, bit by bit, they haul him out and away from the hole, and to safer  
ground.

Exposed to the wind, soaked-through fabric stiffens, and she releases him, struggling to sit, her limbs sore and throbbing  
from the exertion, her fingers cramped. She flexes them, noting with vague interest that they are alone, the bank is empty  
but for the tracks. Jayne mutters, unfolding and stretching, brushing off caked snow, while Zoe strides over to help Mal  
upright, and River rises, too, moving to Mal's other side. He's pale, his lips blue-tinged, and his lashes glitter, it's pretty,  
like frost on grass.

"I have the money," Zoe informs him. "We'd better get you indoors fast."

"Warm you up," River supplies. He glances at her, and, though it isn't said, she responds to what she reads in his gaze and  
gives his arm a careful pat. "You're welcome."


End file.
